


Legacy

by Nicola Mody (Vilakins)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Gen, Post Gauda Prime, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-01
Updated: 2007-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Nicola%20Mody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Auronar die, they leave an unusual legacy to those they care about. Vila finds out there's more to himself than he knew, and Avon gets a second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

  


Cally sat in her cabin, sketching, her pencil recreating the delicate tracery of branches trailing onto the surface of a stream. She drew long stems of grass by the bank, smiling as the monochrome picture brought the sparkling scene back to her mind.

_Remember, Zelda?_

_Oh, yes. And you falling in, leaning out too far to get that dragonfly._

Cally laughed, and beside her—Zelda was projecting herself as sitting beside her—Zelda smiled.

The others thought she had shut herself in here to mourn. They did not know. They had no idea that the Auronar could give a piece of themselves to those they loved, imprinting their pattern on a small part of the mind so that something of them remained. It was real. The _Liberator_'s crew would never understand, even though Cally had used that old curse when she had first met Blake—may you die alone and silent. Alone with no one to give yourself to. Silent, for you would never speak again.

Zelda spoke. Cally was closer to Zelda than she had been for years.

* * *

  
Cally blinked her eyes open in the dusty darkness. Something vast and immovable lay across her, crushing her, and a numbness that spoke of pain too great to feel filled her body.

This was it? This was the moment? _Zelda... Zelda, I'm sorry._ For now they both would truly die.

_Why? I will go with you._

Go _where? _There were no other Auronar in reach. Only... Cally reached out, her consciousness expanding, made more powerful by the release of approaching death.

Vila was the first one she found, the easiest to locate, bright and fuzzy to this strange new perception. He had always been the only human she had ever received anything from.

He was calling her.

_Vila._

He was coming for her. _Too late, Vila_. She touched him, and he stilled. She slipped in, leaving a portion of herself, then passed on to Tarrant, unconscious on the ground. So easy to slide into his slow dreams and leave a part of herself there. Then on to Dayna and Avon. Dayna's mind was open; young, clear, certain; easy to leave her mark. Avon though... Avon's mind was hidden behind high walls of adamantine and ice. _Oh, Avon, you cannot protect yourself from hurt that way._ She was too weak now to beat at the walls. She turned away.

She was fading now. There was one more though, the only one who had shared her dreams of justice and freedom. She drove herself across the dark light-years in one last desperate attempt to reach him.

_BLAKE!_

* * *

  
Vila often dreamed of Cally. She was right there beside him, smiling and talking, and he talked back. But the dreams, like all dreams, floated away like smoke when he woke. He kept it to himself, but at least he remembered her. No one else even mentioned poor Cally.

Dayna and Tarrant still found Vila exasperating, but for some reason they also felt an odd sort of affection for him, and for Avon, even at his worst.

And Avon withdrew even more. If you did not care, you could not be hurt, could you? Why then did he feel as though he had lost something very important?

* * *

  
Vila lay shivering on the hard, narrow bunk in his cell. They had patched his back up so he could be taken back to earth for a public trial, but they hadn't taken that much care and he must have caught an infection, he supposed. Not that he cared much; dying here would be much easier. And so much more sensible than hanging on till he wanted to live again. No point in that.

He had alternated between being hot and cold and in the end he'd thrown his thin blanket onto the floor because being cold was on the whole an improvement, and besides, the shivering distracted him from the pain in his back—and in other places less physical. He had a vague hope that he might get hypothermia; he'd heard that was quite pleasant. Like being drunk or going to sleep.

Hadn't happened yet though. Pity.

He could see a mug of water and a bowl of cold soup with a dry bread roll on the ledge by the stained, cracked wash basin where they'd left it, but he didn't want it, not after the last lot yesterday which had ended up in the basin almost straight away. Didn't want anything any more. He rolled over to face the concrete wall. Easier just to give up.

"Don't."

Sounded like Cally. Must be dreaming again. Didn't want to think about her now, or the others. Just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

"And I thought you wanted to live forever or die trying."

Oh yes, that was what he'd said that day he'd met her. And it was true back then. "Thing is though," he said out loud, "might as well go when I don't really mind. Makes sense."

"Stop it!"

That wasn't fair, snapping at a fellow when he wasn't well.

"Life isn't fair. That is no excuse though."

He could just imagine how she looked. All severe and pursed up like she'd sucked a lemon.

_"Vila!"_

"Leave me alone." Irritated, Vila rolled over again, trying to get comfortable, then his eyes widened. Cally was standing beside his bed, there in the cell. And he'd been right about the way she looked too. Even as he thought it, she changed her expression to a neutral one.

"You can't be here!"

"But I am."

Vila reached out a hand to touch her but it went straight through her. "Nah. Seeing things."

"I'm hardly a thing, Vila." Cally smiled faintly. "Not even a pink asteroid."

Vila sat up, and hurriedly leaned against the wall, assailed by sudden dizziness. "Look, I'm making you up. You're just my subconscious."

Cally frowned. "You flatter yourself. And why would you make me up?"

"So I won't be alone when... you know."

Her face softened slightly. "In that case, tell me why you would see me in my favourite Auronar outfit." She was wearing an purple tunic with a slanting hem and loose trousers, both trimmed in gold.

"I dunno." Vila slumped tiredly. "You tell me." An idea hit him. "Because you're a ghost and I'm about to be one?"

"No, Vila. I am Cally, and I'm in your head, yes, but I am as real as I always was. That is what we Auronar do when our bodies die: we leave part of ourselves to our friends."

"Really? I'm a friend?" Vila was pleased, but only briefly. He sat up straight with horror. "You mean you've been living in there and _eavesdropping_ on me?"

"I only have access to your conscious mind. Only to what you'd say to me if we were both Auronar."

"But we're not!"

"You've never thought anything worse than I've picked up from unshielded friends."

"Oh." Vila thought about some of his thoughts, then decided it was probably better not to. "When I dreamed about you—"

"You were not dreaming. The only time your mind was relaxed enough for you to hear me was when you were sleeping."

"Am I asleep now?"

"No. The fever has heightened our connection. Now, Vila—" Cally put her hands on her hips, "—If we are both going to live, you need to do something about it, and quickly."

"Eh?"

"You heard me. I'm not keen on dying with you. Not when we have a choice."

"We don't."

"Yes, we do. And the first thing you do must is to drink some of that water."

"It won't stay down."

"It will if you do what I tell you to."

Vila grinned despite himself. "Nurse Cally."

Her eyes flashed. "Guerrilla Cally. Rebel Cally. Fighter Cally, and don't you forget it."

Vila recoiled from her anger.

She pointed a finger at him. "I have learned survival skills even if you haven't. Pick up that glass now and take a sip."

Vila eyed the dirty glass. He really did want a drink.

"Just one sip, not a drink."

"All right, all right." He slid along the bed until he could reach the glass. The water tasted flat and a bit muddy, but Cally was right; he did need it.. He lifted the glass again.

"Oh no, you don't. I'll tell you when. And when you've had enough, we will get out of here."

"Can't. I don't have any tools."

"You have your mind."

"Oh right, trick the guard, say 'Oh look, what's that behind you?' Yeah, that'll work."

Cally shook her head and appeared to sit on the bed beside him, a disconcerting sight because the bed did not move, nor did she cast a shadow. "No," she said patently. "You will pick the lock with your mind."

"Oh, come on!" Vila hesitated; perhaps having a telepath in his head... "Oh. You mean you'll help me."

"In a sense. I cannot do anything you cannot, but I can show you what you're capable of." She put a hand over his, and he wished he could feel it. "Vila, have you never wondered why you have always been able to pick locks others could not? And so very quickly?"

"I'm good at it. It's the one thing I'm good at."

"You're wrong about that, but I am not discussing that now. Take a sip—good. Look, Vila, I have been with you while you have done it. You _see_ the lock. You see it all laid out—"

"I imagine it, yeah."

"—and then you change it."

"With tools, probes!"

"Only because you lack the confidence to do it without. All right then." Cally put a foot on the bed and clasped her knee. "One of the things I learned with the Centero rebels was that it is impossible to pick a physio-psycho lock without hacking the computer which verifies the scan, and severing the connection would just freeze the lock. Yet you got through one with Blake in a few seconds." She smiled slightly. "How did you do it, Vila?"

"You just intercept the feedback, that's all."

"Ah," said Cally gravely. "Is that all? How did you know when it would come back?"

"Just a feeling. I dunno." Vila shrugged, feeling uneasy. "You get a sense about things like that."

"A sense. Yes." Cally sounded almost mocking. "And when the computer replies, in that very nanosecond, you stop the signal?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"But the lock still would not open if that was all. Not unless the computer sent a positive reply. How did you change the response?"

Vila shook his head. "You're confusing me!" He took another sip to distract himself from the rising uncertainty and fear.

"You're confusing yourself. You _see_ it, don't you? I watched your memory just then. You see the signal and you stop it and change it and send it on."

Vila spilled some of the water, several drops falling through disconcertingly Cally's leg. "I... how would I do that?"

"I think you are a low-level telepath with a narrowly focused talent for telekinesis."

"No, I'm not! I can't read minds! And I don't want to either."

"Vila, you are the only one I ever felt anything from. You sense danger."

"Always have," Vila said despondently. "But did anyone ever listen?"

"I felt your pain when you were on Chenga, remember? You were also the only one that alien affected besides me, when it drove you to get extremely drunk in a very dangerous place with a bounty on your head."

Vila winced at the thought of that and the hunters that went with it.

"—and then wiped your memory of where you put Orac."

"Um..."

"And there's the teleport. It uses the mind of a person to work..." Cally frowned, tilting her head, "...on the quantum level, I think Avon said. That is why you had so many teleport accidents, when you were being sent somewhere you did not wish to go."

"Just bad luck!" Vila said desperately.

"And why you did not teleport at all the first time the _Scorpio_ one was used. Not until you saw that it worked."

"No." Vila pressed his back into the reassuringly solid wall and drew his knees up.

"And you have always had hunches. You know whom to trust and whom not to."

"Except when—"

"I was there. Avon had the choice of dying or killing you. Do you think he sounded as though it were easy for him?"

"If you were there, you heard what he said afterwards."

"I did. Perhaps he meant exactly that."

Vila turned away. "No."

"Or perhaps he was warning you away. Drink a little more."

He did so. "Has _he_ got a bit of you too?" Didn't want to say his name. "Have all of them?"

"I should think so. You were the first I encountered so I don't know for sure, but if it worked with you..." Cally smiled rather sadly.

"Oh! Is that why you called—" Vila stopped, thinking about what had happened to Blake and any piece of Cally that might have been with him. "Never mind." Vila wondered what it would to be like for a telepath to be trapped inside someone she couldn't speak to unless he was sick or drunk or asleep. "Were you lonely? With no one to talk to?"

"I had Zelda."

"Who's—you mean your sister? Hey, I don't even know her and you let her into my _head_?"

"That is not how it works, Vila. Zelda can only speak to me."

"Oh, right. Otherwise I suppose people's minds would get a bit overcrowded." Cally was still for a moment, and Vila mentally kicked himself for forgetting about how few Auronar were left to do the overcrowding. "Um, look, sorry—"

She stood up. "It is time to go," she said briskly.

Vila pushed himself off the bed and swayed on his feet, feeling light-headed and slightly unreal.

"Come on." Cally, now over by the door, clapped her hands twice.

What the hell. Probably was dreaming after all. He reeled over and leaned against the door, resting his forehead on its metallic coolness. He shivered uncontrollably.

"Look inside the lock," said Cally, unnervingly close to him now.

"Haven't got a screwdriver."

"Pretend you have. Or just _look inside_." Cally sighed. "Or if you prefer, imagine how it's laid out, the way you always do."

That was easy. It was a standard cell door lock, clear as a diagram in front of him, the circuitry glowing. It was operated from the central control room or from the outside with a magnetically coded card. Only had to convince the circuit one had been used, but he needed a probe—

"Imagine one."

Why not? One just like the number five he had on the old _Lib_—

"_Wait!_ You said it could be unlocked centrally. Could you unlock all the cells at once?"

"Eh?"

"Look further." She was very close now, no longer _be_side him but _in_side him. "_Further_, Vila."

The two glowing wires that connected his lock to the controller went off into the distance and he could follow them, see where they joined others, see the controller like a great spider at the centre of a web. Maybe if he just reached out and touched a very, very long probe just _there_, then—

There was very loud _clunk_ as his lock and every other one all down either side of the corridor opened.

"You did it! You see?"

Vila giggled.

"Come on. Open the door."

Pity _she_ couldn't because he really felt like lying down again. He pushed at the door and slipped cautiously out. Some of the other doors were opening too, heads appearing, people coming out, most of them tough-looking strangers he'd rather stayed strangers.

"Vila?"

That was Tarrant, pale and bruised. Didn't look much better than Vila felt. Vila slid down the wall to sit on the floor. _Ah, that's better._

"Did you do that? Vila?" That was Dayna, leaning over him.

"Looks like it." Wasn't she supposed to be dead? "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Dayna pulled a face. "Apparently your Blake didn't trust that woman. Gave her a gun set to stun."

_My Blake?_ If he was, he hadn't looked like the Blake he remembered. Speaking, well, thinking of Blake, there was Avon. _Oh, wonderful._

"What is going on?" Avon looked around suspiciously. "Who unlocked the doors?"

"I think it was Vila."

"Vila?" Avon looked startled. "How did you—" He stopped when Vila stared stonily back at him. _"Vila?"_

"If I'd known which cell you were in, I'd have left yours locked," Vila said bitterly.

_"Vila!"_ Cally was there again, between him and Avon.

"Don't look at me like that, Cally. S'true."

Avon looked upset—_Avon upset?_—and Dayna pulled back, her eyes wide. "What're you looking at? Vila, you're giving me the creeps!"

Soolin's cool voice broke in from the door at the end of the corridor, the only way out. "Unfortunately this one's still locked."

"Oh, Vila," Cally said reproachfully. "Why did you miss that one?"

"S'not elec—"

'Vila." Avon grasped his shoulder. "Get up and open that door."

"Get your hands off me!"

Avon stepped back, startled. "All right." He held them up placatingly. "Can you open it?"

"Klyber fastenings, that one's got. On the other side."

"Can you open them?" Avon and Cally spoke together.

Vila began to giggle again. "Only takes explosives or a genius." Everything felt strange now, hyper-real, hard-edged, yet insubstantial, as if he could poke holes in the spaces between the molecules. He felt dizzy and hot and cold at once, and his voice seemed to come from far away. "Only have to do this." He lifted his hands, flexed his fingers, then grasped nothing anyone else could see, twisted, manipulated, and pulled his hands apart.

There was a loud metallic _clank_.

"It's unlocked," said Soolin, staring at him in awe.

Vila laughed. He laughed and laughed, and laughed even more at the look on Avon's face. Then a lot of things happened very quickly. The doors were pulled open by prisoners, the alarms went off, guards rushed in to be only attacked as they entered, and Vila, not wanting to understand any more of it, lay down and curled up on the floor, his arms over his head.

"Did what you wanted, Cally. Can I go to sleep now?"

"Yes, Vila."

And he thought he could feel a comforting touch on his shoulder. And why not? He was good at imagining, wasn't he?

"Bring him with us," he could hear Avon saying from far away, but he didn't care any more.

* * *

  
Trees and more trees passed beneath the flyer they had taken from what was presumably the guards' parking area. "Find a big timber town," Soolin had said. "They attract a lot of short-term workers and they have hostels where they don't care who you are."

Tarrant was slumped beside him, his eyes closed, and Orac (recovered from the silo in Blake's base on the way) on the floor at his feet. Behind, Dayna and Soolin sat with Vila between them, mercifully unconscious. Avon did not care to remember what Vila had done back there, or the way he'd looked at Avon and laughed that strange, wild laugh. He suppressed the thought that his behaviour might have been as disconcerting of late.

Ah. He could see large swathes of brown earth.

"Bear northwest," Soolin's cool voice came from behind. "There should be a decent-sized settlement over there."

"Yes, I see it." Avon altered course. "Approaching now."

"There should be an area for flyers. If you leave this one unlocked, it'll be somewhere else by nightfall."

"Yes. I had thought of that."

Soolin did not reply, and as Avon brought the flyer in to land, he wondered why he kept on pushing them away, and why they were still there with him. They touched down and he cut the motor. "How is he?" he jerked his head towards the back seat, unwilling even to say his name.

"Shivering a bit not still not awake. I suspect he might be in shock."

"Can you and Dayna manage him between you?"

"Of course."

Avon nodded. "Good. We can say he's drunk; it's been true often enough." He took Orac from Tarrant and climbed out, dropping to the bare earth of the parking area. He stood, his back to them, facing the town's squat wooden buildings. "If you can pick up some antibiotics on the way, all the better."

"Oh, you can buy anything in these places if you have the money," said Soolin.

Well now. That at least was something; he still had much of the Freedom City five million in his Lindor numbered account.

* * *

  
They took the entire top floor of a workers' hostel, paying for a week in advance. Like most buildings on Gauda Prime, it was as wooden on the inside as the outside: floor, walls, ceiling, beds, and a pile of chopped wood for the potbelly stove in the corner. Vila, who had been revived by the cold air outside, collapsed onto the nearest bed, wrapped his arms around himself, and looked blearily around. "Bloody hell. This place'd be worth a fortune on Earth."

"And almost nothing here." Soolin pulled the antibiotic dispenser from her jacket pocket, pushed Vila's sleeve up, and pressed it against his arm. His hand was cold and clammy and she could see him shivering. She looked over at Avon, silhouetted against the window at the end. "He's cold; we need to get him warmed up."

Avon shrugged. "Put him by the stove."

"Come on." Soolin pulled him to his feet again and draped an arm over her shoulders while Dayna took the other. She steered him to the bed closest to the stove, dropped him onto it, and covered him with two thin blankets from the next bed. Then she crouched down and began to feed the stove with wood.

Dayna came to stand beside her. "Primitive."

Soolin gave her a hard look. "My family had heating like this."

Dayna shrugged and lowered her voice. "So what d'you think's up with Vila?"

Soolin chose to misunderstand. "Shock and perhaps a touch of hypothermia." She smiled and looked sideways at Dayna. "Do you know the best ways to warm someone up? Either a hot bath—"

Dayna recoiled. "If you think I'm going to help with that—"

Soolin's smile widened. "Or just stripping off and lying beside him. Most efficient way to transfer body heat."

Dayna took a step back. "Oh, now you're joking!"

"I'm still here, you know," Vila said plaintively.

Dayna's eyes slid towards him, then away. "Oh, yeah?" she muttered, tossing a piece of wood into the stove. "You and who else?"

Vila smiled sleepily. "You might have a bit of her too." He focussed on something—or someone—not there. "Well, you said they probably did."

"Stop it!" Dayna backed away.

"Go to sleep," Soolin told Vila, discomforted herself. She lit the fire and closed the panel. "Right, I'm off to get supplies. We could all do with some food." And besides, a break away from this lot, even on this planet, would be welcome.

* * *

  
"Wake up, Vila."

"Go 'way."

"Wake up and have some soup."

Vila opened one eye. "Don't want any. Want to go back to my dream."

Soolin handed the bowl to Dayna and whipped Vila's covers off. "Sit up."

"Thing is," Vila said conversationally, "I'm tired. I've had enough."

"You're not the only one. Life goes on." Soolin leaned over him. "If you're very good and eat your soup, you can have some wine."

Vila opened the other eye. "What's the catch?"

"Nothing. A little bit should do you good. 'Little' being the operative word."

Dayna stood. holding the bowl, and watched Vila warily. He looked relatively normal, for the last year anyway: tired and depressed. She felt a surge of sympathy for him, and held out the soup, wafting the steam towards him. "Smells good. Tastes good too."

Vila frowned and gave it a sidelong look. "What's in it?" he asked.

Dayna bit her lip and looked at Soolin,

"Vegetables," Soolin said blithely. "No meat if that's what's bothering you."

_Good answer_, Dayna thought, having seen Soolin carefully taking the chunks of beef out of Vila's serving. "Come on, it'll do you good," she said.

Vila considered this. "S'pose there's no harm in trying some." He sat up and Dayna handed him the dish. It pleased her to watch him have some. Funny that, the way she'd come to feel friendlier and almost protective towards him in the last year.

"So," Soolin said when he'd had about half and was beginning to flag. "Tell us about Cally."

"No, don't." Dayna took a step back.

"You saw what he did back in the prison. There has to be an explanation, and Cally was a telepath."

Vila mashed some carrot against the side of the bowl with his spoon. "All right," he said cautiously. "Maybe you'll stop thinking I'm crazy."

"I don't."

"All right, tell me and maybe I won't." Dayna drew a wooden chair up to the bed.

"She told me that when Auronar die, they give part of themselves to people they care about. Other Auronar, but there weren't any so..."

"You mean..." Dayna wrinkled her nose. "inside other people?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"She could be in me?"

"Yeah. Hang on. I'll ask her."

Dayna went cold.

"Look, it's _Cally_. Our _friend_." Vila's eyes went unfocussed. "She says in the conscious level of your mind only. I—she—cannot see below that, just your uppermost thoughts—" he paused, listening, "—and you would hear hers if you could."

Dayna swallowed. It has been his voice, but the way he spoke hadn't been. "Can you see her?"

"Only if she wants me to." It was Vila again.

She was silent for a while. "So I could hear her if I tried? If she was there?"

"S'pose so. She said it was because I had a fever first but now the barriers are down, they'll stay that way."

Dayna tried to listen inside her own head, and it was as if she remembered Cally smiling at her. Or maybe it wasn't memory. She shrugged; maybe it was her imagination, but the thought of having Cally with her was strangely comforting.

"It sounds quite reasonable to me," said Soolin. "After all, we know very little of the Auronar because of how much they kept to themselves."

Tarrant who had been listening from his bed, got up and came over. "D'you think Cally gave me something of herself too?"

"Don't see why not." Vila pushed the remains of his soup away, and Dayna took the bowl.

Dayna paused beside him. "Does it bother you?"

Tarrant thought hard, trying to see if there was someone other than himself in his head. What would it feel like if she was there? Some thoughts and feelings not quite his perhaps? _Something like that, yes_, came a faint almost-echo. He shrugged and sat on the side of the bed. "You know what? It doesn't."

Vila grinned and lifted the mug Soolin had passed to him. "Cheers, mate. Care to join me in a glass, well, mug of wine?"

"As long as it isn't that one, why not?"

Over by the window, Avon heard them talking and laughing. He kept on looking out towards the flyer landing ground, half expecting to see something larger and more dangerous coming in.

"You never know," he heard Tarrant say, "things could finally be looking up."

"Yeah, till Servalan arrives for a friendly little visit," said Vila.

Avon stiffened and turned around.

"What on earth makes you think that?" asked Dayna. "She'd never come here, not to a dump like this. Sorry, Soolin."

"Excused. The planet's one big one as far as I'm concerned."

"Yeah, except everywhere we go, everything we try to do, she turns up, and about as welcome as a warg at a wedding." Vila took a swig and stared, suddenly morose, into his mug.

"She is the commissioner of the closest Federation sector, Vila," Avon said coldly.

"Yeah, well, she should bloody well stay there." Vila held his mug out to Soolin. "Swanning about ruining it for innocent people—"

Soolin smiled as she poured and raised her eyebrows. "_Innocent_, Vila?"

Avon stood up. Where the hell had they got wine?

"Well, relatively. I mean, once or twice is bad luck, but this is ridiculous. No one has a run of luck like that. Stands to reason you get some ups and downs, but not all downs."

"You're still alive. That should be good enough for you, if not us." Avon took the bottle from Soolin and slammed it down on the table in the centre of the room, out of their reach, so hard that ruby liquid spotted his hand.

Vila glowered and said nothing. The others almost seemed to draw together, to present a common front.

Avon looked at the droplets on the back of his hand. He already had Cally's blood on them; how long until there was more? And how long until they worked out that a run of such bad luck was beyond the realms of coincidence, that one of them must be being tracked? And that someone was probably him, given that Servalan had him in her hands on Terminal. He'd scanned himself for implants back on Xenon, but there were so many other methods that were undetectable without the right equipment, like controlled particle emission.

He angrily shook the liquid from his hand and strode out, slamming the door behind him. Servalan was playing with them. It was only a matter of time before she tired of the game and put her paw into their mousehole.

In the small bathroom, he ran the tap and scrubbed savagely at his hands. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take the tension. And the guilt.

* * *

  
They were all asleep, and Avon sat alone at the table under the dim central light, looking at Orac. He tapped its key softly on the scarred wood, still unwilling to insert it. He had wedged it inside Orac before he and Vila had hidden it behind a ventilation grille. "Too dusty and ratty for most people to look in," Vila had said. And as Orac had still been there, he had obviously been right.

Avon held the key over the activation slot and hesitated. Was Orac the means by which Servalan tracked them? He shook his head; that way lay paranoia and, even worse, paralysis. He inserted the key, and Orac whined into life.

And behind him, Vila sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide open in shock. "Cally!"

Avon turned, his eyes narrowing.

"It's Cally!"

"Shut up, Vila. If you're trying to frighten me, you are failing, If however you are attempting to annoy me, you are being singularly successful."

"No, really, she's there. In Orac."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Vila got out of bed and stumbled towards him, and Avon quickly brought his gun (once the possession of a prison guard) round to point at his chest. Vila stopped; an excellent idea considering how close Avon was to pulling the trigger.

"You don't believe me," he said.

"I'm not as gullible as those other fools, no."

"What would it take to prove it?" Vila tilted his head, then nodded. "All right, how about this? You once said that regret should be a small part of life, but you do not seem to have followed your own advice."

A chill ran down Avon's spine. It was Vila's voice, but Cally's intonation. He tightened his finger on the trigger.

"And on the Ortega, I... I mean she," Vila dropped out of character, "Look, it's as confusing for me, you know. It's like being a translator except I'm not. Anyway, she said that she said one who trusts is never betrayed, only mistaken."

Avon sat still.

"And she said she knows now that was wrong. I could've told her that." Vila said bitterly. He came forward, reaching out a hand towards Orac.

"Stay where you are."

"Don't be a prat. It's Cally, you utter berk, another bit of her. I know you don't think much of me, but you liked _her_."

"Do not come any closer."

"Look, all I want to do is fix Orac's connections so you can hear her."

"No."

"She's in the dimension Orac's signals go through, where her telepathy works."

Avon hesitated, then lifted the gun higher to point at Vila's face. "Could you stop me firing?"

Vila stepped back quickly. "No." Then his chin came up. "I can stop the gun though. It's got circuits and electronics, just like a lock."

Avon gave him a hard look, then sighed and put the gun on the table. "You can't do it anyway, Vila. I installed an explosive device which will go off if you try to tamper with the communication channels."

"Yeah, security systems often have them. you know. I can see it, like a black furry beast crouching there ready to jump." Vila pulled up a chair. "Got any tools? They help."

"No."

He sighed. "All right, I'll have to pretend again. Makes it a lot harder."

Avon pushed his chair back and steeled himself. It was a small charge intended only to reduce Orac to a heap of spare parts, but some of them might be moving at considerable speed.

"Done!" Vila leaned absurdly over Orac. "Cally? You there?"

"Alone... I've been so alone," came the soft and familiar voice from Orac's speaker, yet sounding much further away.

Avon's mouth went dry.

"No, you're not," said Vila, "not any more. We're here."

"Vila? Yes, I felt you."

"And Avon's here too."

Avon found his voice. "You are dead. You cannot be there."

"But I am both." there was a pause. "Demonstrably."

"How—"

"Blake. I left my last legacy to Blake."

_No. Not Blake._

"Oh well done," said Vila. "Two friends with one shot. Oh all right, three shots, but it doesn't sound anywhere near as pithy."

Avon considered and rejected the idea of using his gun as a blunt instrument.

"It was going to happen sooner or later," Cally said. "Blake wanted to die. He was always deliberately putting himself in danger, and he refused to wear any personal armour."

Vila looked stunned. "Why?"

"He ended up an a planet devastated by the destruction of Star One and they worked out why he had been there, which was not very hard. An eye for an eye, they said, although I do not understand the symbolic meaning of that saying."

"S'pose he was missing a gnasher too then," said Vila. "So he felt guilty? Bet he wouldn't have if the rebellion'd won."

"No," Avon said dryly. "In the meantime, are you planning on staying there in Orac?"

"I am not in Orac. It merely provided the gateway to the dimension in which Auronar telepathy works when Blake died."

Vila nodded. "And we were all full up."

"All but Avon."

"Ha! Yes, I wouldn't want to live there either."

Avon gave Vila a look that caused him not only to shut up but to pale. "Why, Cally?" he asked quietly.

"I tried on Terminal, but you had very effective mental barriers. You still do."

"Studded leather brain with a steel-tipped—" Vila thought better of going on. "Don't mind me."

"You ask the impossible." Avon turned back to Orac. "Can you stay where you are?"

"No." Cally was silent for a moment. "I shall eventually dissipate."

"Then... then I take it you wish to leave this particular piece of you to me."

"There's Soolin," Vila said.

"I can see that you trust her, but I do not know Soolin. You see," Cally said sadly, "we can only do this with those we know and care about."

Avon blinked. "Go to bed," he said to Vila.

"All right," Vila said mildly and left, somewhat to Avon's surprise.

Avon leaned forward. "What would it be like?" he asked, very quietly.

"You would hear me. We could talk. If you are concerned," Cally said, a faint hint of amusement in her voice, "I would not be able see or hear anything you did not wish me to."

"Hmm." Avon stood up and walked to the window and back. The thought both frightened and attracted him, and he was surprised at the strength of longing for company that had risen in him.

It's Cally.

It's my _brain_.

He paced back and forth, worrying at the problem and getting no closer to a decision, finally stopping at the window, which was already showing the grey light of approaching dawn. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass. He didn't want to let Cally die. Cally was already dead—_dissipate_, then. And how much longer could he give her anyway, if his suspicions that Servalan had done something to him on Terminal were correct?

Cally might know if they were.

He drew in his breath sharply. At last, a rational reason he could accept.

He went back to Orac and placed his hand gently on it. "Very well."

"You will have to let me in."

"How?"

"Let down your wall. Or if you prefer, imagine a door in it and open it."

For some reason, he remembered standing outside hers after the death of her people.

_"What is it?"_

_"Well, it looks like a door. And it's closed."_

But it wasn't, because suddenly she was there. "Cally," he whispered.

_Yes._

He might almost have taken it for a stray thought of his own, but it wasn't. Relieved that he no longer had to keep them to himself, he let her see his concerns.

_Ah. I think you are right. Tell me, Avon, why did you shoot Blake?_

"I... I thought he had betrayed me. It just seemed that I _had_ to."

_Perhaps that too was part of what she did._

Avon sat down and put his head in his hands. After a while, he spoke. "What do I do?'

_Use it._

* * *

  
The first thing Vila looked at when he woke was Orac. If Cally was still there, he couldn't hear her. He got up and looked at Avon, asleep on his bed, flat on his back with his limbs slightly spread and relaxed. Vila had read somewhere that that pose showed extreme confidence, unlike his own curled-up foetal position burrowed under the covers. Had the bastard let Cally drift into nothingness? Wouldn't put it past him.

"If you're awake," said Soolin, shrugging on a padded jacket, "you can come with me to buy breakfast."

"All right then." Vila never turned down a good distraction. "After all, no one'll recognise me here. Besides, I'm good at not being noticed. Unless I'm with someone who looks like you, of course."

"You think so?" Soolin pulled her hair up, wound it into a knot, and pulled a flat cap over it. In her bulky clothes, bought locally, she looked shapeless and almost plain.

"You've got that down to a fine art."

"Yes. I learned early."

Vila pulled on boots and jacket and followed her out and down the stairs. The street was still wet with dew and the air was crisp and fresh. They passed a lone window-box of flowers, bright reds and blues against the ubiquitous wood, and he smiled. "This place mightn't be so bad."

Soolin glanced at him. "Oh, yes? The only work here is very hard and physical—"

"Not necessarily." Vila lifted his head and sniffed the warm, fresh bread smells coming from the shop on the corner. "I could be a baker or a publican."

Soolin laughed. "And deal with all the tough customers you'd get?"

"There is that." Vila was unconcerned. "I'll leave then, go somewhere nice and civilised and wealthy like Lindor. That place'd keep me in comfort."

Soolin gave him a curious look. "Why didn't you? Leave before now, I mean?"

"I was scared. Terrified of being alone. Much better to be with people even if they don't like me."

"People do like you."

"You know what I mean."

"Avon." Soolin walked in silence for a few moments, then said, "I do know what you mean. About not wanting to be alone, that is. Why do you think I stayed with you lot after Dorian died?"

"Really?" Vila stared at her in surprise. "I'd never have guessed." When she did not reply, he wondered if he had put his foot in it again. And why had she said something now when she was normally so self-contained._ Oh_. "You could come too, if you like. Or part way. Or not at all as the case may be."

Soolin smiled faintly as she pushed the bakery door open. "I'll take that generous offer into account."

Vila felt distinctly cheerful as he followed her in. Well, you never knew.

* * *

  
"I've been waiting for you both," Avon said. "Where have you been?"

"Getting breakfast." Vila put a very appetising-smelling bag onto the table the others were sitting around. "Warm bread rolls." He slid into a chair and looked at Avon almost challengingly. "What's going on? If it's another mission, count me out. I've decided to give failure up this year."

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What, failure?" Vila took two rolls and pushed the bag into the centre of the table.

"In a way, yes. When I was on Terminal, I was... given a dream that I could not tell from reality. I don't know what else Servalan had them do to me, but I have a fair idea."

"A humourectomy?" Vila said through most of a roll.

"Just shut up and listen. Even you noticed how often Servalan has appeared in the right place and at the right time to ruin our plans." He held up a finger. "But only when they involved potential damage to the Federation or its interests."

"That's true!" Soolin's eyes widened. "There's a distinct pattern there." She frowned. "I ought to have seen it."

"I still don't know how it was done, but I believe that I may have been given a compulsion that is triggered by those conditions."

"Easily fixed then," said Vila. "We just retire and rest on the laurels we forgot to win."

"Not yet. I want my revenge. I know just how to get it—" Avon pointed his finger at Soolin, "—and I need your help."

* * *

  
They had been gone a while, and Avon could not help but wonder if they had finally decided to cut their losses and run. No, surely Dayna at least would carry the plan though.

He spent most of his time in the small room he had rented in a boarding house; he only went out to buy food and always took the cheap personal communicators they used here. He wore plain brown clothes and shuffled with rounded shoulders and eyes down the way Vila had coached him. It seemed effective; no one noticed him.

The call came on the third day, when he was in the room.

"Yes?"

"It's me," Soolin's calm voice said. "I bet you don't know where we are."

"Do tell." They had agreed to keep their exchanges as innocuous as possible on the remote chance that someone overheard.

"We're all in the capital. There's some Federation bigwig here, a fellow called Bercol from the High Council and they're putting on a bit of a function for him at Government House tomorrow night. We thought that might be a bit boring, but there could be some fireworks afterwards at the President's house where he's staying."

Avon smiled a predator's smile. "You could be right. I rather think I'll join you."

He closed the comm and sat for a few minutes, deliberately going through a scenario in his mind, rehearsing it, imagining how he would carry it out. Would that be enough? In any case, it was time to go.

Then his face went blank and he inserted Orac's key, selected a certain frequency, and spoke a short numeric code followed by three brief sentences.

He frowned. He did not remember leaving the key in there. He shrugged and removed it, put it in an inside pocket, packed Orac into a small second-hand bag, and walked out.

* * *

  
Servalan smiled. So Avon was planning to take Bercol hostage. Actually, she would rather enjoy seeing that. Perhaps she would wait until he had done so before turning up and spoiling his little games.

But no. Avon was too dangerous, and so was Bercol for that matter; after all, he knew what she looked like. "Set a course for Gauda Prime's capital. Time distort ten."

* * *

  
"Hello, Avon." She was a little startled to say the least at his choice of outfit. "Your sartorial taste seems to have deserted you. I'm not sure that brown is your colour."

"Servalan. Such a pleasant surprise. Especially when I was expecting a middle-aged politician who does not, as far as I know, go in for evening dresses."

"Ah yes. Unfortunately High Councillor Bercol was assigned to another suite. For his own safety, you understand. Do put your gun on the floor."

Avon did so. "I hope he got better rooms. This one seems a little crowded."

Servalan, flanked by five troopers on each side, smiled creamily. "It is, isn't it. Pity I got here first. For you, anyway."

"It is." Avon leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. He really was irritatingly relaxed. "Tell me, Servalan. How is it that you manage that so very often?" He raised an eyebrow. "Some sort of implant? A programmed compulsion?"

"Oh, Avon. It took you this long to work it out? It was the latter, and I must tell you, it has been so very helpful to Commissioner Sleer's career. That is, soon to be _Sector Governor_ Sleer." She sighed. "What a pity it's all over now that you know."

"I admire your deviousness. How exactly did you do it?"

Servalan waved her hand. "So simple it was laughable. Every time you planned something that might hurt my interests—and the Federation's do coincide with mine, you know—you sent a little message. Probably on that little computer of yours, judging by the speed with which we got them."

"Ah yes, simple but effective."

She was annoyed at how well he was taking it. "Of course the best part was planting the idea of killing Blake." Now, that struck home. "They told me that you would rationalise it to yourself. I've seen the tapes. Betrayal: rather a sore point, I should imagine."

Avon pushed himself off the wall and stood ramrod straight, his body tense and his face pale with fury. He controlled himself with obvious difficulty. "I am sorry to inform you that this time you have miscalculated. You got here before me, but you see, my team got here days ago and only then told me where they were and what they were doing."

Servalan felt a chill touch her. "You're bluffing."

"No." His eyes slid from her to the bedroom door and his brows went up. "In fact I would assume they're right here in this suite. In the room behind you."

"Such an old trick. I am disappointed, Avon. Not even Vila could get through that door; it's keyed to my own personal code." And then she heard it opening. Shocked, she turned.

"Easy," said that annoying fool, Vila. "I just told the system that I knew it." He shook his head, lips pursed. "Very lax security." Strangely at ease, he stood to one side to let the others out: Tarrant, Dayna, and a blonde woman she had never seen before.

She had no control over them; consequently they were of no use to her at all. "Fire!" she commanded. There was a volley of clicks.

"Your guns won't work," Vila said conversationally.

"You really must learn not to state the obvious, Vila." Avon came to stand beside him, his own gun again in his hand.

Servalan began to edge back towards the door.

"I wouldn't," said Avon, lifting his gun.

"It's locked anyway." Vila grinned. "To _my_ personal code."

The blonde gestured to the troopers with her gun. "You lot: hands on heads and into the bedroom."

Vila opened the door wide with a flourish. "You'll like it in there," he said, "if Inner Gallic brothel is to your taste. Come on, cheer up. You know she's Servalan now and she'd kill you for that, you know. You're getting off lightly." He shut the door and locked it.

Avon bared his teeth. "And now."

They lined up, all five of them, and aimed their guns at her.

"You wouldn't," said Servalan. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed woman."

"You programmed me to shoot an unarmed friend."

"You shot an unarmed blind man," said Dayna.

Avon spoke so softy she hardly heard him. "Fire." And they all did.

It didn't really hurt. It was more like being kicked in the chest. As she was lifted from her feet, for a moment of preternatural clarity, she saw them all: Tarrant, body turned and arm straight out as if he were at a firing range; Dayna, her face alight with savage joy; Vila, with his turned away and his eyes screwed shut; Avon, his feet apart and holding his gun with both hands; and Cally. Cally looked like a badly generated hologram; she had no gun, but just pointed a finger at Servalan as she spoke an unheard word.

Then as Servalan fell and the darkness closed in, Cally's angular, wolfish face filled her vision, and her words, her universe: _Forever alone._

* * *

  
"Bloody Orac. Might've known. Don't suppose you could set a bomb to go off if you ever use that frequency or code again." Vila's eyes glittered. "And let me know what it is."

"You suppose correctly. I have however programmed Orac to close down if either is used."

"Or both, I hope."

"Vila, you're a foo—" Avon stopped, seeing the suppressed grin on Vila's face. It had been a long time.

"What do we do now?" asked Vila, no doubt thinking along the lines of a good meal followed by one or five glasses of a decent red.

"Well, this ship of Servalan's a good fast one, and I'd say she handles well." said Tarrant.

"It's got a pretty powerful bank of plasma cannon too," sad Dayna.

Soolin nodded. "And a good range that would take us well away from this planet."

"And nice comfy cabins," said Vila.

Avon smiled and found that he meant it. "It's good to see that everyone has their priorities in order."

"Actually," said Vila, "my top one's a long and happy life and I don't think a rebel's one is either of those."

Dayna looked thoughtful. "I've been considering setting up an arms business."

"Security would be a nice offshoot," said Soolin.

"So to speak," said Vila. "And then there's Avon's gadgets."

Avon opened his mouth to object to the term, but was diverted by the thought of all that potential profit.

_You did once say you could take the Federation down with enough money._

_I did. Yes._

The end

  



End file.
